Author
Topic: Japanese Juxtaposition (Read 287 times)

For some reason I thought a new topic was probably in order by now? The name reflects the situational context of my mind. Whatever that means. Perhaps my Wasabi-themed hairdo has detrimentally impacted all cognitive function.

To write a poemIs my desireBut I shall findMy hair on fire

And if the flamesCannot be quenchedI'll find myselfTo be entrenched

I must concurWith all that followsEven as I squeezeThe bellows

For if my hairDoes not burn brightI'll freeze to deathThis chilly night

I took this rhymeFrom mister WonkaWhile doing burnoutsIn my Tonka

It makes no senseI can attestThis effort's reallyNot my best

So I say nowtNow but goodnightAnd hope my hairWill stay alight.

Logged

"Our imagination spans that infinite moment, between the asterisk and the ampersand."

This is the one I mentioned on Hangouts. I don't like the first two parts, but they're essential for what I want to say.

AOutside my family

The first person I ever knew to die was Ildico Matskasi, our neighbor. I was 5The second was Te Aroha. She had leukemia, she was 22The third was John Togiama. Heart attack at 59

In my family, there was uncle Garth, suicide at 37Grandad. It’s perverse to know the age of your grandparentsAnd my partner’s grandfather. When you’re 97, everyone knows your age

Three each. A collection that grows as you get older. The suit that Tom was buried in - we found a program for another funeral in the pocketgrief is like money. The more you have, the stranger it becomes. Death and money are all so much noise

The dead are so smallThe living have a presence larger than the space they physically occupyEverything that doesn’t fit in a box is what diesThe living don’t fit in boxes

Usually the void calls the call of the unknownIt no longer calls when it’s seenstill incomprehensible, but now visibleto see someone small is too see the voidand all of a sudden the void repulses

The void sickens the living. It’s the death of meaningThe death of everything that does not fit in a boxand the elevation of grief to noisethe elevation of noise to white noise

I'm proud of myself for writing and editing a little bit today for the first time in over a week. Still a rough version but hopefully will tidy it up in time for artweek.

This is a listof things I don’t wantto do anymore:smile at people for their sakesay “yes” when I mean “no”

be told off in the supermarket for not pressing the right button at the self-checkout and then take it personallyworry about what people think of my clothing choicesbe told I am inferior for taking care of myself leave my lunch in my bag, untouched, because there’s someone else in the room

dance with you when it’s awful and you hurt my arms and breathe in my faceI’m not getting paid for thisI’ve paid to be here and enjoy myselfwhere does caring end?

hurry because you’re in a hurryrisk my life to arrive 30 seconds earliertell you I’m good when I’m notpretend to be on my phone so I don’t have to please you; stranger at the bus stop

an offer can be rejecteda request deniedno questions askedno judgement given

sit at home not reading because I’m incapable of finishing a book, so why start?sit at home in pain and do nothingsit with my back hunched against the cold, concrete-block wall when I could stretch and feel nourished and strongignore the journals full of words and think why bother writing when it never leads to anything I’m pleased with

exhaust myself for the sake of pridereply instantlyreciprocate asap so as not to feel in debt laugh at your jokes when I don’t carenod when I don’t agreelet you play in my head all night when that’s my time

who gave you the right to take up space in my mind without paying rent?